Any normal summer, we would by now be totally over courgettes.

Left a day too long on the plant, they’d be morphing into marrow-like mammoths and I’d have moved from stir fry to stuffed to fritters and crustless quiche, peeling them into ribbons to stand in for pasta and would now be pureeing and freezing them because, though their appearance on the dining table would now be being greeted by collective groans, I cant bring myself to waste food.

But this is not a normal summer

and discovering this, peeking out from the undergrowth, was greeted by a squawk of utter joy.